


please don't set it in stone

by astra_inclinant



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Hurt/Comfort, Self-Harm, and insecure, and needs help, kylo is unrepentant, leia forgive me, prisoner kylo, rey is very forgiving, trial in space
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-11-21 16:41:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11361417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astra_inclinant/pseuds/astra_inclinant
Summary: Kylo is a prisoner of the Resistance, subjected to a lengthy trial that brings up things he's tried his best to forget. Their verdict is clear, in his mind. There is only one way he expects this to end, and he is ready for it.Or, you can't always get what you want.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Title is taken from Regret by Kensington.

The hallways in the high-security wing of the Resistance base don’t look all that different from the sterile designs favored by the First Order. The walls and ceiling are an oppressive dark grey metal, unwelcoming and sharp and impenetrable, lit up by soft blue diodes lining the walkway. Deep within the base’s labyrinthine layout, Kylo Ren can almost pretend he is back on the Finalizer, striding purposefully with his saber a reassuring weight at his side and his helmet an impervious barrier around him. 

One of the guards at his back coughs and the illusion is broken. He is back on the Resistance base, barefaced and unarmed, where his heavy footfalls echo dully with those of two guards behind him, their blasters glowing red with charge and pointing straight ahead. 

Kylo Ren is not on the Finalizer, and never will be again, if the jury he is being marched to has anything to say about it. 

 

*

 

His trial has been drawn out far too long for his taste.

Day after day for the past four months, the rows of fold-up chairs crammed in the small makeshift courtroom have been filled with higher-ups in the Resistance’s council, as well as the odd officer or pilot who managed to sneak in with the crowd. The proceedings were supposed to be a private affair with only the judge, jury, a defense and prosecutor, and Kylo Ren himself, hence why they were held in a defunct room deep within the lower levels of the base, but given his notoriety the audience grew each day. Being surrounded by so many people who wanted him dead should have enraged him or cowed him or made him feel _something_ , but the force-suppressing cuff weighted around his ankle left him blissfully deadened to their thoughts.

Only a few hours in, the trial turned to the reason behind the crimes. Every hearing since, Kylo has had to rein in the murderous impulse to commit another as the supposedly impartial ‘jury of his peers’ are unable to suppress their interest in a past he’s tried to hard to forget. His crimes are well-known through the galaxy, but the motive behind them are a source of rampant speculation. As they raked over the coals of his neglected childhood, if having an ever-rotating arsenal of nannies and droids in charge of minding him counts as neglect, they practically crowed with spectators’ delight. 

Some were shocked, others delighted at finding out their illustrious general and fearless leader was not as perfect as she had always portrayed herself. Yes, the truth of her father was a mark against Leia Organa, but one that most had forgiven in exchange for her level-headed leadership; after all, Darth Vader was someone she had had nothing to do with. But Kylo Ren was born of her, raised by her, turned to the enemy because of her. He is a stain on her legacy that will never be washed out. 

 On the first day of his trial, he sat and watched as his mother — yes, he would gladly address her as _mother dearest_ in front of them all to expose it as the one position, the one title she had failed at upholding — sat straight and stoic as his childhood and upbringing was called into question by his defense Terrik, a man young, brash, and hungry for success. 

 Witnesses were brought in. 

 First, there was the nursemaid who quit after two months of sleepless nights: 

 “I don’t know how that baby” — she had avoided looking at him during her testimony — “could find the energy to cry so much. I didn’t sleep because he didn’t. It was like any time he’d close his eyes, something would scare him awake.”

 Then one of Leia’s old assistants from her days in the Senate: 

“How many hours were you with then-senator Organa per standard cycle? An estimate in standard hours is fine.”

 “During election season or ahead of Senate votes, we could be together for up to fourteen, sixteen hours at a time.” 

 “And how many of those hours was Ben Solo — who would have been around six years old at the time,” Terrik reminds the jury, “with her?” 

 “He - was often off-world with caretakers. But she was doing her —” 

 “That will be all, thank you.” 

 Holonet articles detailing Leia’s movements and activities over the past three decades were read out — _Leia Organa to return to Senate duties after brief maternity leave; Princess Leia and war hero husband spotted on romantic getaway; Ben Solo, age 12, to train with legendary Jedi Luke Skywalker._

 Interspersed in the projections were holos of her at balls and parties, giving speeches and toasts and presenting medals; in some, a young dark haired boy could be spotted in the background looking bored. Others were paparazzi shots — one of a little boy no more than five clutching a stuffed tooka, grasping at a droid’s golden hand with no Han or Leia in sight, garnered sympathetic murmuring.

 Two weeks into his hearing, the judge ordered Leia to take the stand for questioning; she could not refuse. In the face of the law that the Resistance so tirelessly clings to, she was neither General Organa nor Princess of Alderaan, but a civilian compelled to follow the rules.

 Her own testimony was the most damning out of all the evidence. 

 “General Organa, what do you know of the so-called Supreme Leader of the First Order, Snoke?” 

 Leia put on her best general face, as if she was just at an everyday debriefing. “From what little intel we have on him, he appears to be the man behind the curtain. What his ultimate goal is I couldn’t begin to—” 

 “Personally, ma’am. What do you know of Snoke in relation to your son?” She arched her eyebrow at the young man, unused to being interrupted. The defense looked at her innocuously, expectantly.

 “I believe he was,” she paused, then started again with more conviction. “No, he _was_ targeting my son. From the beginning, before he was even born.” 

 “And how could you know that, ma’am?” 

 “I could feel it, his darkness.” 

 “Through the force?” 

 “Yes.”

 Terrik’s nose practically twitched at the scent of victory. He went right for the jugular. “So, if I may go over what you’ve told me so far, you felt a malevolent dark presence interfering with your unborn child throughout his childhood and… what did you do about it?” 

 “I — nothing. I did nothing.” She looked right at her son then, right into his eyes as if she had any right to admit to this _now_ , too little far too late. Kylo felt a flare of potent anger, and he was almost grateful for the cuff on his ankle and the chains around his wrists. He’s not sure what he would have done otherwise.

 “Nothing. I see. Thank you for your candor, ma’am. No further questions.”

 When they had broken for lunch and he was returned to his cell, he had rammed his fist into the wall over and over and over until the tears had stopped. An hour later he sat across from his mother in the crowded courtroom with a bruised and broken hand and a soft, cruel smile. 

 The jury was practically buzzing, no doubt having spent the entire lunch break gossiping amongst themselves. With a little effort, he could hear whispers close to the surface of their thoughts:

 “ _Back to work only three months after giving birth? What kind of mother could leave such a young baby?”_

  _“I’d give anything to have my son back and she sent hers away without a backward glance.”_

  _“She knew he was being targeted and did nothing? I can’t believe that.”_

  _“If she’s not even fit to parent, how can we trust her with an entire rebellion?”_

 He enjoyed watching her demeanor change, subtly, day after day, hearing after hearing. The put-together appearance that she had always prided herself on began to unravel. Her shoulders had started to stoop, her face looked older, even her outfits looked rumpled, as though she had slept in them. _Good,_ he thought. Let everyone turn against her. Let her see what it feels like to be abandoned and unwanted.

 

*

 

His mother had shown up for every hearing during the months that he’d been the Resistance’s prisoner, despite the public’s shifting view of her, and Kylo almost admired her for it. Perhaps masochism was hereditary. But he shouldn’t have expected it to last. 

 There had been a period of a few weeks when he was ten and had been suffering from such terrifying nightmares he’d started slamming his head against the wall in an attempt to drive them out. Leia had left work early every day for two weeks, in time to tuck him in bed and kiss his bruised forehead and he’d thought maybe things would be better from then on. Then some political scandal cropped up and things went back to the way they’d always been. Always something more important to tend to.

 Given her track record, Kylo isn’t exactly surprised that his mother’s seat in the courtroom is empty today. Idly, as he tunes out the prosecutor’s recounting of his visit to that quaint little village on Jakku, he wonders what’s going on in the real world that’s more interesting than a meeting that could decide her only son’s fate.

 The door slides open and shut with a resounding thud and a harried man in an officer’s uniform rushes in, white-faced and wide-eyed. Half the audience turns to fix the intruder with disapproving glares while the other half remains steadfastly focused on the details of Lor San Tekka’s final moments. 

 Kylo couldn’t care less for the prosecutor’s endless droning. He could relive that old fool’s death any time he wanted, but this unexpected interruption is a welcome break from his boredom. His dark eyes follow the man’s nervous jerky movements as he weaves through the cluster of chairs to reach the judge’s podium.

 The judge fixes the officer with a stern look. “Give us a moment, Govan,” he interrupts the prosecutor, who looks put out at having his story cut off. Then he motions for the officer to approach. 

 The officer leans in close, and from this angle, Kylo can’t see his mouth moving. The hushed murmur of the audience drowns out the man’s words, anyway. The judge’s face, normally ruddy and flushed, drains of color and he looks lost for a moment. His mouth moves as he impotently searches for words. Kylo sits up a little straighter, smelling blood in the water.

 The rest of the room notices the judge’s sudden change in demeanor as well, and their whispers echo and multiply, feet tapping, clothes rustling, throats clearing. The judge fumbles for his gavel, bringing it down hastily with a tinny clatter on the metal of his makeshift podium.

 “Order, I will have order!” The whispers stop abruptly at the judge’s reedy voice pitched high with nerves. He takes a fortifying breath before continuing. “We have just received word that… that General Organa is dead.”

 There’s a moment of absolute silence as everyone absorbs his words. Then, person by person, the room explodes into sound: gasps of shock at the death of a leader, tears at the loss of an old friend, calls for an explanation, shouted plans, already, _have some respect, she’s not even cold yet_ , at what to do next.

 In the midst of this cacophony, this pornographic display of grief for a woman they’d sneered at just days before, sits Kylo Ren, sole heir and greatest critic, chained to the table in front of him by shackles and shock. 

 The gavel sounds again. “We don’t have much information yet, but it appears she was commandeering an unauthorized mission to infiltrate First Order headquarters.” 

 This breaks Kylo out of his stupor. He struggles against the effects of the force-suppressor, reaching for the force so hard that it brings a bloom of pain behind his eyes, but he manages to delve into the judge’s mind. _Poor woman… must have been trying to help… doesn’t deserve it, but a mother’s love is —_

 He draws back, tries to pull in a deep breath, but it feels like he’s been punched in the chest.

 He’d often wondered, when Hux and his men spoke of attacking the Resistance headquarters, if he’d feel anything when his mother died. He’d always imagined that he would feel the suddenness of her absence shoot through him like a lightning strike. Her presence had always been there, even - no, _especially_ when he didn’t want it to be, and he had looked forward to the day when one of the last remaining tethers of light would leave him at last. When he had run his saber through Han Solo’s chest, he felt his life flicker and fade from existence, and as loath as he was to admit it, it had hurt. It hurt when he killed his father and they’d had only a fraction of the bond that he’d had with his mother. Yet she was gone and he didn’t feel a thing.

 He tries reaching out again, even if only to feel the scar of her absence, but the force feels so far away from him and this kriffing cuff is weighing him down and he feels like he can’t breathe.

 Unconsciously his jaw clenches and his hands form fists and without knowing it he’s pulling them back, smashing them into the table until the flimsy metal buckles and his hands are cut up by the sharp edges and the shackles tear at his wrists until he feels something wet trickle down his forearms but he can’t _feel_ anything. The pain doesn’t even register, the clarity that comes with it denied. He feels out of control and he doesn’t know how to stop. 

 The guards posted at the door and flanked at either side of the podium come rushing at him, blasters raised. Terrik has leapt up from his chair beside Kylo, no longer a confident young defendant unconcerned with his client’s actual innocence. He’s staring wide-eyed at him like he’s seeing him for the first time. The blasters whine as the guards thumb the charge.

 The judge leaps up from his seat with surprising agility for a man of his age and stature. “For the love of — put those down! Get him out of here!” 

 The guards look from each other to Kylo and back, warily, and slowly lower their weapons one by one. One comes up to him, approaching like one would approach a wounded animal, slowly, never taking his eyes off him. The guard grabs his arm roughly, pulling him away from the ruined table and Kylo wants to kill him, wants to provoke him to shoot, wants to sink to the floor and cry. Instead, he allows himself to be lead through the rows of chairs and silent witnesses.

 Through his unfocused eyes he can see looks of discomfort, disgust, even pity on the faces around him. As the guards lead him back to his prison cell at the heart of this twisted and decaying base, he can only be grateful that he can’t feel their thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter One, or defense attorney stereotypes for days. (I don't actually know if there's info on star wars judiciary protocol so I'm going with what I know from law and order)
> 
> So this has been rattling around in my head forever and I finally got around to writing it woo! This story is 100% inspired by Dark Times by the Weeknd and influenced by Regret by Kensington and Twisted by Missio, so listen up if you want to get into the proper headspace.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and please let me know what you think!


	2. II

Kylo sits on the edge of his thin, feeble cot facing the wall. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he was dragged out of the courtroom. Long enough that the dingy wall begins to swirl and blossom in static patterns in front of his unfocused, unblinking eyes. Long enough that the cuts on his hands and arms have congealed and itch and pull at his skin. The bacta patches thrown in the cell after him remain untouched on the floor. 

Memories play in his mind. One after the other, like late night holo reruns that everyone’s already seen but can’t skip forward through. Each passing thought feeds the distant ember of resentment. 

His need for her approval. Her disinterest driving him to take extreme measures. The bond they shared, leaving him so vulnerable to the light’s influence. It is all _her_ fault, this whole situation he’s in. He conjures up the image of her dark hair pulled back into buns, her kind eyes, and her soft touch. Rage displaces the emptiness he’s felt up to this point.

Yes, it is Rey’s fault that his life has devolved into ruination. If only she hadn’t fought him during the interrogation, if only she hadn’t pushed herself into his mind and made it so he couldn’t get her out. If he had been himself, he never would have tracked her down so tirelessly. He would have never found her lost in hyperspace way out in the Outer Rim or engaged her in a dogfight. They would have never spiraled down through the atmosphere of a planet so desolate his nav chart didn’t even have a name for it. He would have never allowed himself to be taken by Resistance _scum._ His mother would — 

The sound of his cell door opening with a clang breaks his train of thought. He closes his burning eyes and fists his hands, holding his anger back by a fragile thread. Who are these _incompetent, inconsiderate, waste of living flesh_ guards to disturb him? Obviously he’s not interested in eating _dinner._ He’s more interested in snapping some bones at this particular moment. Agitated, Kylo stands, shoulders tensed, and turns to face the intruder.

The cell door slams shut. From the small viewport, Kylo can see a pair of wide eyes watching before a red-faced guard ducks out of sight.He lets the voyeuristic guard distract him for a moment before turning his attention to the visitor standing in his sparse cell.

Rey stands before him. She had visited him before. Not every day, only for a few minutes at a time, but it’s more than he had been expecting. This time feels different, though. 

She looks smaller, more fragile than he last remembered. Maybe it has something to do with the way she’s pulled the sleeves of her grey shirt down over her hands, fingers picking at the hem. Or maybe it’s the way her eyes are red-rimmed and her cheeks are splotchy. He can remember why he was angry at her, but looking at her now he can’t for the life of him remember how it felt or why it even mattered.

“Kylo,” she whispers, chin trembling and voice thick. She doesn’t say anything else, just lurches forward and throws her arms around his neck, burying her face against his chest. He can feel the fluttering of her chest as she breathes, quick and uneven and noisy. 

Hesitantly at first, his hands come up to her sides, then he can’t help wrapping his arms around her, crushing her to him. He rests his cheek against the top of her head, inhaling the smell of her soap and skin. It helps him attempt to keep his breaths deep and even when he feels like the world has stopped and he is crumbling. His eyes sting and dart around the bare room, up at the ceiling, and the tears do not come. Rey nuzzles her head closer to him, holds him tighter, and his heart feels raw and tender. They stay like that, locked together in a twisted pose of grief and comfort until both of them catch their breaths and compose themselves.

Rey pulls back first, unclasping her arms from around his neck as she takes a half step back. Kylo drops his hands back at his sides. He tries hard not to feel the slice of pain in his chest, tries to ignore the niggling thought that whispers she’s leaving him. 

She wipes her nose on her sleeve instead. “How are you doing?” She bites her lip and frowns a little. “I’m sorry, that’s a stupid thing to ask, of course you’re not alright.”

Sometimes he wonders why he did it. Why he stayed put while the X-wings hovered above and the shuttle touched down outside their little camp. Why he went with them, allowed them to restrain him without a fight. Why he gave up everything for someone he’s not even sure likes him. Sometimes he thinks he’s the galaxy’s biggest sucker and he’s glad the mirror in his cell is made of tempered transparisteel so he can punch his reflection over and over again without it shattering. But to see her like this, clinging to him and asking how he is like she actually _cares,_ it’s enough to make him forget everything else but her.

He can’t help himself. Maybe today has finally driven him mad, or maybe it’s the culmination of every single other day of his life. He finds he doesn't care as he closes the small distance between them and captures her lips with his.

Rey lets out a soft noise of surprise and grabs onto his arms for support. His eyes flutter open and he sees her staring wide-eyed back at him. Her eyes are shot with red and her dark lashes are clumped together with half-dried tears. Her sadness makes the green of her eyes look even more vibrant. Slowly, he pulls back, but her hands are still around his biceps and she won’t let him go too far.

A rattling thump on the door jolts them back to reality. Unceremoniously it slides open, breaking the odd tranquility that had settled in the plain room. It's the same guard that was watching them before, his cheeks still flushed a mottled crimson.

Rey rounds on the guard, managing to look fierce despite the redness of her nose. To his credit, the young guard looks uncomfortable at having to intrude. He shuffles his feet in place and stares at a spot on the wall above Kylo's head.

"Visiting time is up. Please vacate the cell immediately." The guard sounds unconfident, like he's reading the words straight from the training manual.

"Kriff off," Rey spits. "It's not even been ten minutes."

The guard blinks, eyes flitting down from the ceiling for a half-second. He wasn't anticipating Rey to be the one to give him trouble. "The prisoner is only to be granted —”

She cuts him off with a low growl. "You will close this door and not bother us for the rest of the night." 

The young man's eyes go glassy. "I will close the door and not bother you for the rest of the night." With much more confident steps, he follows Rey's orders and marches out the door. It closes with a soft clunk and they are alone again.

This is the first time Rey has protested the end of their visitation time. Any other day, he would have met her disobedience with a smirk and a flutter in his chest. Now, though, he feels heavy, so tired in both body and mind. 

He settles himself on the cot so he’s lying on his side, legs drawn up so they don’t hang off and she sits at his head beside him. When he rests his head on her lap, she runs her fingers through his hair soothingly, sending little tingles down his neck until his muscles relax and his eyelids drop. 

Even half-asleep, he doesn’t know why she hasn’t left yet, except that maybe she’s pouring herself into his needs as a distraction from her own. He knows that’s the only reason someone like him deserves comfort.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's read, commented, and left kudos! Y'all mean everything to me.
> 
> idk if I'm at all happy with how this is turning out so I'd love to hear some feedback. Also if someone could invent an app that just translates the images in your head into a fully written story, I'd appreciate it.


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